“It’s unclear. Sarin is encased in an opaque crystalline structure. “She has described it as her cocoon. She chose that description, she said, so that we could conceptualize it.”
“Fascinating,” said Kyne. “Did the JetShift logs explain more?”
“No. You’ll spend an hour with Sarin today, and every day hereafter, until we know enough. The guards will collect you from your rooms every morning and return you afterwards.”
“What if I should like to stay longer with Sarin?”
“That will not be permitted.”
Kyne sucked in a breath. He was not used to such confining parameters when working with test subjects. Still, this could look good on his resume. “Floraboden, is this blindfold nonsense truly necessary?”
“Good luck, Professor,” said the stationmaster, ignoring his question. The image faded out.
The texture and color of the screen changed, and Kyne saw the outline of a sarcophagus-like structure in an otherwise empty space. He seated himself and leaned forward and studied the dimensions. It appeared—if the scale was true—to be a little longer and wider than the dimensions of an average female humanesque.
“Hello, Sarin,” he said, not sure what else to do.
“Hello, Professor Kyne. Stationmaster Floraboden told me to expect you.”
Her tone, though a little husky, was a perfect replication of the Mintakan accent. Humanesques in this sector of Orion clipped the end of their words. It was quite attractive to a Procyonite like Kyne who was used to the sound of his language bubbling like air in a water pipe.
“Are you comfortable with being called Sarin?”
There was a long pause, then she replied, “It’s my name.”
Kyne nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He felt the mantle of his professional persona slip across him. “You may call me Professor or just Kyne.”
“Just Kyne. That is an unusual name even for your kind.”
That made him smile. “It’s not my name, Sarin. It’s semantics. Calling me Kyne will be sufficient. Our scout found you on board a damaged ship. Do you know what happened to the crew?”
“Interrogatives are not appropriate among my kind until a couple knows each other well.”
Kyne raised his eyebrows at the crystalline structure. “Are we a couple, Sarin?”
The A-Class was silent for a moment. “That was clever of you, Just Kyne. Creating intimacy from nothing.”
Kyne took a moment to consider her response then said, “I apologize if questions make you uncomfortable. It’s an accepted form of communication among humanesques. If you tolerate my lapses, I will attempt to reframe my speech, until we know each other better.”
“Your response is appropriate.”
“Good. Now… you were alone on a deserted JetShift.”
“It was not my choice.”
“Did they capture you? I’m sorry, let me try that again… According to what we could tell, the JetShift had been occupied by pirates.” Kyne made that up. But it seemed a reasonable assumption. Traders and pirates were interchangeable in this sector.
“I appreciate your attempted sensitivity with interrogatives, Just Kyne. However, I am not sure what a pirate is.”
“A vagabond. A scavenger. Pirates operate outside constellation laws.”
“I heard my captives speak of Orion. I believed it to be the name they give this area of space.”
“Place names are only useful if everyone knows their locations.”
“I would agree. Our cluster-space will not be familiar to you.” The sound she made was utterly strange and discordant.
“Or, it may be familiar, but not as that,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Perhaps I will bring a celestial map on my next visit. We could exchange neighborhoods.”
“You sound coy, Just Kyne.”
“Coy is a very advanced linguistic concept, Sarin. I’m impressed by your command of our language.”
“I have also learned that humanesques use flattery as deception.”
“I had not intended deception. I only seek veracity.”
“My apologies. They used a similar tone to yours. It was followed by either falsehood or demands. It is reasonable that I assume you would do the same.”
A little surge of excitement prickled across his skin. He felt intrigued and unexpectedly aroused. It was a long time since he’d had an interesting and challenging conversation with a female…
A-Class alien female. He frowned. Inside that casing, she could be the shape of a jellypod.
“On my next visit, I’ll bring you some music to listen to,” he said. “I find it soothing and uplifting. Perhaps it will have the same effect on you, Sarin. It also speaks to the nature of our species.”
She didn’t reply immediately, but Kyne noticed the sarcophagus infusing with a rosy color.
“You’ve changed color,” he said, delighted. “I find that hue warm and pleasant. I shall assume that it’s a sign of your approval.”
The color deepened.
Kyne spontaneously reached out to touch the screen between them, but as his fingers contacted the surface it went blank. “Sarin?”
The door in the side wall slid open and one of the guards burst in. He lifted Kyne from his chair and roughly bundled him into the corridor.
“What is this? My hour with the A-Class isn’t finished! And your manner is unacceptable!” protested Kyne. “I’m an esteemed member of the station scientific community. You c-cannot treat me this way!”
He would’ve said a lot more, but a four-guard escort formed around him and began to move. He had to lift his knees and jog to keep from being trampled by them.
The guards maintained a silent and threatening manner on the trip back to his rooms.
Kyne squirmed in their grip. But they held fast, implacable, and unyielding.
Ridiculous! Excessive! He tried to send a complaint to the stationmaster as soon as he was alone again.
Stationmaster Floraboden is engaged in a Level Five scan and unable to be disturbed. His M-A sounded annoyingly prim.
Kyne swore and poured himself a double measure of Mintakan port. The sweet, thick wine coated the raw anger burning his throat, and soon he settled at his desk to select music for Sarin.
His visits to her followed a pattern after that: somber and silent guard escorts, time in the little interview room communing with Sarin, then a somber and silent return. Kyne was careful not to touch the screen in the interview room again, and the guards did not treat him roughly.
Soon he looked forward to the daily visits, and he learned much about Sarin on the strength of his own conversational skill and linguistic savvy. Kyne knew he was doing a good job.
Sarin also seemed to take pleasure in speaking to him, often showing her emotions by changing colors.
He compiled daily verbal reports for Floraboden, pleased that he’d identified that she was from Pleaides, specifically a 4.17-magnitude star she called!, which Kyne believed to be the star they knew as Merope.
The crew of the Jetshift had found her crystalline casing floating in a rocky belt orbiting a one of Alderberan’s planets and thought it might be valuable. They’d held her captive for over a ship year, despite her request to be set free. (He was estimating the length of time based on Sarin’s description of overheard conversations.) How Sarin got to be floating free on the edge of Orion’s boundaries was still not clear.
Kyne needed more time with her, and more music. Sarin appeared to enjoy Reikebord, Isikayao-Wha, and Piaf. Her favorite though, was Vangelis, an old, old song called Damask Rose. Kyne had taken to playing it at night in his rooms while he thought about Sarin and their conversations.